The weight of the world wasn't gravity nor a mass acceleration, hurtling through outer space until there was something here to catch it. But it was something quite inherent that without which, you would pause.
Because its absence was an ache that once you felt it, you couldn't recover. Because there was nothing to replace it, there was nothing to hide the gap, there was nothing to obscure where the weight would hold you when. And every part of you couldn't deny how foreign it was to lose that because the weight of the world wasn't gravity — the weight of the world was him.
And only now did Harry know, and only now did he see, that it wasn't gravity that pushed him or had settled upon his knees.
It was the mass acceleration of how he was looked at with a grin, with a smile that could rival with any force in the galaxy. Because it was something like a gift, a treasure, or a secret when it glanced at him then, and Harry knew it was all for him. That he flumped like a starfish beneath the antlers of a tree, crowned above a hill near the edges of a lake, where he and Tom were hiding; and for a while, they had stayed.
Before in the distance came the tolls of a solemn brass bell signaling a new period; but as seventh years, they didn't care. Or at least, Harry didn't — he had nothing until this evening, and it felt good to lounge about and to be seventeen beneath the tree.
Sprawled above the earth and his limbs — they were magnets — attracted the attention, the quirk and then the stare of all the twitches from his mouth when Tom couldn't look away. That from here, and about a metre and with Harry's crooked glance, he imagined there was laughter or at least, a chuckle behind them then.
Or exasperation upon the narrow and the way he was squinted at when Harry stole above his lenses to try to find the Slytherin. And he found nothing but a blur of where his boyfriend could've been, and the smudges of his face — or what Harry thought might've been it.
Before he knew with some certainty that what he found was something else; that it wasn't laughter, exasperation or anything that simple when Harry caught the way he smiled and the way it crowded to him then. Like he himself was a planet, exerting gravity over Tom, reeling him with a force that was nothing but centripetal.
Or maybe Harry was just a comet or a lonely, lovely star that had been minding his own business before what found him was a black hole. Wearing a fondness he'd only known whenever Tom was a tad jealous, but from what?
There was nothing, and there was no one here around them.
If he didn't count the rolling hill or the grass to their persons, The Great Lake behind their backs or the willow loomed above them, or the earth behind him now and how it strolled his every stairwell. Until the shape of it upon his spine reminded Harry of a mattress, and the saunters of his head when he gazed up and found him then — when he found Tom like a shadow or an eclipse when he did. And there was that jealous, friendly look around the pupils of his stare; brimmed with something soft so Harry knew it wasn't for him.
But it was a question and not an answer; what was the point to this little game?
Was Tom jealous of Harry's schedule or perhaps, towards his own? Ticked beyond belief that right now he had to leave, just as things were getting harder and more exciting when Harry flopped because he was indeed a pretty picture with all the green surrounding him.
That Tom — the narcissistic and the biggest Slytherin within his House — had to leave him with his own green so that the portrait could be complete.
Or maybe, Tom was jealous of all the grass upon the hill because they were snuggled to Harry's form and ruffled him quite a bit. Jealous that the green had stolen his favorite activity; and perhaps, it was spot-on when Tom traced him with certainty.
Moreso with his eyes, though his hands were well-tempted when they clung to the buttons and the fabric of Harry's shirt. Torn between yanking or pushing Harry further until eventually, there they were. Behind his neck and in his hair while settling at his waist and between him — there and then — was the weight of one boyfriend and the motive within his stare.
Like a kneazle or a serpent having found what it wanted, and here to linger for eternity because that below it wouldn't dare. Dare to move, dare to stir, dare to leave with it here. And like a hungry, swirling mass of gravity and time, Tom could wait here with a patience that could rival any force.
Because what he wanted was permission, an admittance if you would; a temporary promise that the boy beneath him could recede. Because unlike gravity and the many things you'd find in nature, Tom wouldn't act until he heard it — until Harry told him, "Come and get me."
And that marked the difference between him and this hill, between him and the earth, because Harry had a choice for whom he would fall for. And the ground beneath them then knew nothing about romance, or how to woo a lovely lion to see him fall so willingly. That Tom would challenge the very planet to show it how it ought to be, and he didn't care that he fell first and had done so upon his knees.
Because he did so because of Harry, because of the gravity he felt from him — having watched a beautiful boy sprawl about without abandon. That of course, he'd fall first. That of course, he'd be attracted to this star among stars and — together, be a constellation.
Because the weight of the world wasn't gravity unless he had found it through Harry, just as Tom would be the same if Harry whispered for him to kiss him. Because without a doubt, he would melt him until there was nothing the earth could have. Because Tom was Harry's boyfriend; so to the earth, find someone else.
As the same couldn't be mentioned if Tom scoured the population because there was no one he'd rather be with than be with Harry while he could. That the jealousy in his eyes evaporated when Harry pulled until he was closer, tighter, firmer on top of him, and there was no space in-between them because their breathing overlapped.
"If you wanted something, you should've said so," he whispered at his neck.
Then Harry kissed him and Tom melted.
Harry held him and Tom relented.
Tom deepened and Harry bit him.
Tom sauntered down his neck until there were fingers in-between them, there were fingers at his mouth, because Harry was like a body which had now been resurrected.
Head grounding into the earth and his neck was like an arch, and there was a choir when he stuttered because it was getting hot and heavy all of a sudden. That he needed to catch up and faintly wondered what would happen if he had fallen too soon and too far into the chaos.
Because while magic was a gift, it didn't hide everything. And they would have to wander back to Hogwarts without his Cloak of Invisibility, so Harry motioned with his eyes while his throat was recovering from all the sounds Tom had torn when he had Harry to himself.
That they could pick up from where they ended because for right now, this was enough. And if they wanted more, they could spoon on this lovely, grassy hill and kiss occasionally to keep the other on his toes had they wanted.
"I can't believe you're jealous…" His voice, low and soft, when he followed Tom as he lifted, and there were questions in his stare.
Brown meeting green and his fingers were still there, loosely held by all the fervor of a passionate, good kisser. Who kissed them — once or twice; before he nipped them with his teeth as there were a few things he wouldn't bite if they lingered willingly.
"…of grass," Harry smirked.
"It's complicated." Tom nibbled. "But it's you, so it's worth it."
Then Harry mumbled, "You're my idiot."
And held him tighter because he could and when Harry laughed, Tom could feel it — like it was the start of something new, a constellation within the heart. Where you didn't need a telescope, but rather hands to come and find it.